Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Fancy Flies Like Snow

Sometimes when it snows, my fancy flies....

When I told them I
want to be more like the snow, they called me foolish.

They—the
watchers, worriers, waiters, hurriers—had never stopped to notice
the things I did. I couldn't blame them. If they had not seen the
things I had, snow was nothing but a blocker of cars, a jammer of
traffic, a danger, a distresser, a thing that kept one from going out
and another from coming in. Snow was a biter, nipper, spoiler,
killer. All nasty, ugly names for a crushingly beautiful thing.

To one who will
not go at a snow-pace, snow is foolishness. To one who never slows
down, the secret truth of it is hidden: that snow is honest; that it
is an artist; that it tells stories.

So when I said
that I want to be more like snow, they laughed and rushed on their
senseless way, fretting against peaceful things. No matter.

For one day they
will hear my honesty, taste integrity that crunches white and
crystalline between the teeth, and see the snow. It will blind them.

One day they will
find themselves surrounded with a sudden beauty, their barrenness
covered by a loving word, their sere fields sifted over with quiet
art made in the wing-ends of life. Their curtailed words and fell
mood will be eased by the same innocence they despised. Beauty, love,
art, thrown with a liberal hand to the ones who never deserve it.
They will see the snow. It will chill them.

One day they will
sit, bound by the spell of my fables. Like bird-tracks, fox-feet,
deer-steps, I will show them wonders. I will tell of things their
hearts have muttered and spin for them webs of words. The tales to
come and the stories past, the dreams they dare not dream, the hopes
they knew were dead. And things will awaken, thrum and pierce in
their hearts for the Story their being craves.

Schuyler: Pray, don't feel too badly. I am not above complaining either, sometimes.Janie: Thank YOU for the comment. I clicked on your profile and saw you are currently living in Mozambique: what an adventure. Thanks for stopping by! You are very welcome here.

Beautiful! I wish more people took time to appreciate the snow. I'm from an area of the Pacific Northwest that doesn't get snow very often... When it does snow, its as if the city goes into lockdown and we're the only city in the world, facing an apocalypse of frozen water. It's pretty goofy.

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I'm Rachel Heffington; in varying degress, that will mean a dreamer, a writer, a people-lover, and a great many other things. I write chiefly because I read, and I read chiefly because the love of Story is writ on my soul and I cannot escape it. I hope I can inspire readers with an ache for that one Story of which we are each a part. I released my debut novel, Fly Away Home (available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble online) in February, 2014, and my short Cinderella retelling (The Windy Side of Care) is scheduled to be released in the Five Glass Slippers collection published by Rooglewood Press in June.
I am so pleased to make your acquaintance; do stick around and partake in the whimsy!